Available Darkness Season 2

stood, unable to move, staring at the charred bodies in the bed.
    “Oh, God; , God; oh, God. What do I do?”
    She spun in a circle, looking around the room as if the answer might pop out at her, maybe from the closet. She thought about calling Larry. Surely, he could help her cover this up.
    No way. He will freak out. He’ll want to leave. Immediately, no questions asked. Take no chances. Adios, Katya.
    She looked down at the burnt corpses again, wondering if the police would tie the murders to her. Or worse, what if the agency John worked for, the ones who’d taken her and held her like a lab rat until John traded himself for her freedom, was investigating?
    They would definitely tie it to her.
    Unless they think there was a fire.
    Abigail ran from the bedroom and bounded down the stairs, through the dark living room and to the garage. On the ground, beside the lawnmower, she saw it — a big red gas can.
    Please be full, please be full, please be …
    It was.
    She picked it up and carted it into the living room, running back up the stairs as fast as she could, gas sloshing all along the way.
    OK, where do I start?
    She thought of Bobby. She’d killed him first, even though she held no memory of doing so. She went into the boy’s room. Seeing Bobby’s charred body triggered a store of his memories, a fresh wave rolled through her mind.

    Bobby found a tiny, filthy dog with a broken back sprawled in the middle of the street outside his house, and cried until his mom agreed to make Dad find a vet.
    He was trick-or-treating too many streets over. He got lost, bag snatched, then got beaten up by three boys, ironically all dressed as members of the Justice League: Superman, Batman and the Flash.
    Bobby petted his mom’s head for who-knew-how-many hours after she lost his baby sister, two months before Rebecca was supposed to be born.

    As Bobby’s memories softened from boil to simmer, Abigail stared down at his charred remains feeling as if she’d lost a close friend, even though she’d never known the boy, except for a few fleeting seconds inside her dream. She imagined a different life where she met him not as a vampire, but as a girl instead — a life which would never be, and hurt so much to think about.
    She uncapped the gas can and shook it over his body, like she was watering the lawn.
    The gas was pungent in her nose, burning her throat, as Abigail went from his room to his parents’, spilling a trail of fuel along the way. Once she reached their room, Abigail poured the gas all over his parents, making sure to save at least a little for downstairs. She emptied more gas in a line down the stairs and then in front of the couch and in a long wavy line running along the front door and window until the can was empty.
    Abigail went into the kitchen, searching for a lighter or matches.
    She pulled out drawer after drawer, heart pounding in her chest as utensils rattled and drawers banged back in their home.
    Hurry, hurry. I’ve gotta get home before Larry notices I’m gone.
    Finally, Abigail found a junk drawer, and seized a green plastic lighter from inside.
    Yes!
    She ran up the stairs holding the tighter tight, afraid she’d drop it. As she passed Bobby’s room, Abigail froze, unable to move again.
    What have I done?
    She stared at Bobby’s body again, trying to figure out how she’d gotten into the house in the first place.
    Was I sleepwalking? And if so, what’s to stop me from doing it again?
    She thought again of the incident in the restaurant restroom, overcome by memories, and the overwhelming sadness she’d not only experienced through her victims’ memories, but that which she inflicted herself.
    She thought of Bobby’s father screaming, “What are you?”
    She swallowed, tears streaming her cheeks.
    I’m a monster.
    Abigail moved closer to Bobby’s burned body, then sat on the bed beside him, allowing the gas on his sheets to seep into her pajama bottoms. She lay on the bed and let the gasoline soak into the back of her shirt. It was ice cold, which she thought ironic given its flammable properties.
    More memories raced through her mind, more misery, more sadness.
    She raised the lighter above her, staring at the little gray wheel, then realized she’d never lit a lighter, though she’d seen people do it plenty and it seemed easy enough. She ran her thumb along the wheel, waiting for the fire.
    Nothing.
    She looked closer, and saw a plastic red tab, probably there so kids